


On the Tip of his Tongue

by suckerfordeansfreckles



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Boys In Love, Breakfast, Drunk Sex, Drunken Confessions, Friends With Benefits, Friends With Benefits To Lovers, Getting Together, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Morning After, Mutual Pining, Pining, Sloppy Makeouts, Smut, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-05-31 12:38:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19426150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suckerfordeansfreckles/pseuds/suckerfordeansfreckles
Summary: Cas isn’t entirely sure how or why they started this arrangement, who of them first suggested the idea.But now it happens semi-regularly, whenever they both get drunk together — which is neither hard to plan nor rare to happen. They are in the same friend group, they both are close to Charlie, queen of parties and alcohol-fueled game nights. They get drunk together at the very least twice a month, go out and play or dance and have fun with their friends, and then instead of going their separate ways home, they end up stumbling back to one of their places together, arms almost brushing, giggling like they share a secret. Like nobody could ever guess what they were up to just by looking at them.And then they fall into bed together.





	On the Tip of his Tongue

**Author's Note:**

> Huge huge huge thank you to my lovely [casbean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/casbean/pseuds/casbean)  
> and  
> [shark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkfish/pseuds/sharkfish) for making me feel okay about this story after not writing anything in a month <3

Cas isn’t entirely sure how or why they started this arrangement, who of them first suggested the idea. 

He can’t deny the possibility of it having been _him_ who brought up the entire thing, what with five years of pining and the desperate and growing need to be close to Dean. 

But now it happens semi-regularly, whenever they both get drunk together — which is neither hard to plan nor rare to happen. They are in the same friend group, they both are close to Charlie, queen of parties and alcohol-fueled game nights. They get drunk together at the very least twice a month, go out and play or dance and have fun with their friends, and then instead of going their separate ways home, they end up stumbling back to one of their places together, arms almost brushing, giggling like they share a secret. Like nobody could ever guess what they were up to just by looking at them. 

And then they fall into bed together and, as good as possible in their sloppy, drunk state, they fuck their brains out.

It’s the best part about those nights out, to Cas, when he gets to sink into a mattress with Dean and touch him all over, kiss him as needy and messy as he always longs for, make him feel good, make him come undone. 

Lately, though, Cas has a hard time finding the limit of _drunk enough to allow himself to sleep with Dean_ and _not drunk enough to say stupid things Dean can never know of._ It’s hard, when his sober self is well aware of how much these shared nights are hurting him, how much stronger they make the fiery want in his stomach whenever he’s close to Dean. But it’s even harder to deny himself this, this single best thing in his life.

So he gets drunk enough to ignore his sober, responsible and mature thoughts. Gets drunk enough to stop resisting Dean’s pull.

But during the past few weeks it has also gotten harder to not just jump into Dean’s arms in public once he’s drunk enough. To not kiss him in front of all their friends. To not lean over and whisper “Come on, let’s get out of here,“ barely an hour after the party began. 

Mostly, though, it has gotten harder to hold back all the sweet nothings and compliments and words of adoration he wants to share with Dean. 

A confession seems to sit on the tip of his tongue all the time nowadays, but whenever he had a sip of alcohol, it wants to jump and hurl itself towards Dean.

Whenever they aren’t wearing clothes, when he’s wrapped in Dean’s arms, when they are buried in each other and nothing else matters — all he wants to do is tell Dean how much he’s loved, how much _Cas_ loves him. 

But he can’t, can’t risk fucking up their friendship beyond repair. They have been good friends for five years, now, have even shared an apartment for a while in college. And this arrangement doesn’t seem to put a strain on their friendship at all — if anything, it feels like they are getting even closer. They share more with each other now, from random details about their days to serious things regarding work, family or friends. 

Cas gets a few nights a month where he can be as close to Dean as he wants, physically. And with time, it feels like they are somehow growing closer emotionally, as well. 

It feels _good_. 

Even when they are not twisted around each other and drunk, it feels good.

Which makes it even harder for Cas to try and deny himself these nights with Dean.

Which is also why he’s currently on his way to Dean’s place from Charlie’s, Dean walking beside him just a little too fast to pretend he’s not at least a little eager for what’s to come, too.

His heart is beating overtime, as it always seems to be doing lately when he’s around Dean. 

“C’mon, dude,” Dean says into his direction, a mischievous grin on his lips. “Hurry _up_.”

Cas watches him for a bit, the glint in his eyes and flush on his cheeks, and falls impossibly harder. “Sure,” he laughs eventually, stumbling faster to match Dean’s steps. “Sure.”

They are only a few more blocks from Dean’s apartment, so Cas falls into a clumsy sprint, with Dean catching up and grabbing his hand in a second, fingers intertwined. He isn’t sure how they make it up the stairs of the apartment building without hurting themselves on the way, or how Dean manages to get the key into the lock with the way his hands are wobbling and shaking — but they do, and then they shed shoes and jackets and pants and stumble until they land on Dean’s mattress.

They barely have time to get out of their shirts and underwear before Dean rolls them, maneuvers Cas on top and between his legs. Cas hides a smile in Dean’s shoulder, plays it off by pressing kisses along his hot skin, making his way up along Dean’s neck and towards his mouth. 

“C’mon,” Dean says again, this time a lot more breathless and a little pleading. “Kiss me.”

Cas doesn’t need to be told twice, so he dives down and catches Dean’s soft lips between his own. He tastes of tequila and lime and salt, and Cas feels suddenly very drunk on more than just cheap tequila. He doesn’t move away from Dean’s lips while he moves up, swaying a little on his way, to lean on his left elbow so he can let his right hand trail down over Dean’s chest and stomach.

The kiss grows heavier, hotter, but Cas has to break away in a soft moan when he feels Dean’s hard cock twitch against his thigh. 

“Cas,” Dean says against his neck, breath hot and sending shivers down Cas’ spine. “Need you, hurry, _please_.” The words are a little slurred, and Cas’ ears still feel a little like filled with cotton from the loud music at the party, but their impact is very clear anyway.

Cas hides another whimper in the soft skin of Dean’s neck, and then he makes a head-dive towards the nightstand that unfortunately, unpredictably, ends in him toppling off the bed. 

He hears Dean’s surprised laughter up on the bed, first a giggle and then full blown hysterics, while he sits up and rubs his smarting buttcheek. 

“Ouch,” he grumbles, holds onto the nightstand and makes his way back up.

He finds Dean giggling, curled up with his hands on his stomach, still hard even through this outbreak of laughter. “Shut up,” Cas grins, reaching down to open the drawer and pull out lube and a condom, and then crawls back over Dean. 

Dean’s laughter dies down immediately, legs falling open to welcome Cas between them again. Cas kneels down between them, vision still a little blurred, but clear enough to notice the blush on Dean’s cheeks, the eager smile on his lips, his glassy eyes.

“C’mon,” Dean whispers again, and Cas can’t do anything but pop open the bottle of lube and coat his fingers. 

Opening Dean up is a blur of moans and “ _more_ ” and his fingers slipping into Dean’s tight heat. He’s barely up to two fingers when Dean’s hands come down to pull him out. His eyes are half-shut and his lip bitten red when he says: “Fuck me, Cas,” and then, really, all is lost.

Cas fumbles his way through opening the condom, pulling it on, and then he guides his cock down between Dean’s legs. That first push past the tight muscle and into Dean’s heat is everything, too much, and Cas drops down to put his mouth on Dean’s skin again. “So fucking good,” he mumbles into Dean’s chest, fingers spasming in the meat of Dean’s hip.

“Cas,” Dean gasps, “Cas,” and Cas kisses him senseless.

He pushes, and pulls, and Dean shudders apart beneath him, mumbling meaningless words into Cas’ shoulder, fingers buried in the muscles of Cas’ back. He’s pushing down against Cas, soft moans falling from his lip with every push that hits his prostate just right, rising and rising and rising.

Cas can tell how close he is by the way his noises are cresting, growing higher, and so he reaches between them with one hand to grab hold of Dean’s hard, leaking cock. 

He jerks him, messy and with a grip just as firm as he knows Dean loves, once, twice, and Dean gasps, shakes, speaks: “Cas, Cas, love you, shit,” and then he comes all over his stomach and Cas’ hand, shaking and shivering and panting.

And Cas’ brain shuts down, so he presses his lips to Dean’s and kisses him as he shakes apart as well, coming inside of Dean with short, desperate thrusts. He doesn’t let go of Dean’s lips for a while, can’t pull back and look at him.

Because it can’t be. It can’t. Dean wouldn’t say he loves him. Dean doesn’t love him, doesn’t want more than this friends with benefits arrangement they have got going on. He doesn’t. Cas knows.

Also, Cas is drunk. Cas is so drunk, he feels his heart in his stomach and his chest on fire. He’s so drunk, his ears are ringing and his fingers tingling. He’s so drunk, he imagined. He must have. 

So he kisses Dean, long and deep and hard, even though he goes off-script by doing so. They don’t usually touch more than necessary after sex. They pull away, clean up, and then they call an uber and part ways.

Tonight, Cas kisses Dean until he grows soft and slips out of him on his own. Tonight, Cas stays draped over Dean, buried in the softness of his skin. Tonight, ignoring the fuzz of alcohol on their tongues and the sweat and sticky come covering their bodies, they fall asleep in each other’s arms.

When Cas awakes the next morning, it’s slow and blurry and his head is still throbbing a little. He yawns, moves his arms above his head to stretch, and is a little surprised when his hands hit the bare wall instead of the cushioned headboard of his bed. He blinks his eyes open, slow and careful to survive the brightness of the room, and only then does he realize that he’s not in his own bed.

Because those are most definitely Dean’s favorite dark blue sheets. The ones Cas fucked Dean on last night. And fuck, did he seriously fall asleep after sex? Why didn’t Dean kick him out? Because this has never happened — this should have never happened.

Before Cas can really spiral into an anxiety attack, worrying about how he will get out of this situation without seeming like a needy idiot who craved a cuddle so badly that he fell asleep on top of Dean, the smell of bacon fills the bedroom.

And now that his thoughts have quieted down, he can hear the sizzling of oil in a pan, can hear Dean humming a song under his breath while he cooks. While he cooks… breakfast. For… them. 

Cas trips out of bed faster than ever, and has another brief panic trying to decide if he should put on more than his boxers to join Dean in the kitchen. He decides on pulling on his jeans as well, but leaving the rest of his clothes wherever they have been tossed last night, and pads out through the hall and into the kitchen on bare feet. 

He finds Dean in nothing but his boxers, shoveling bacon and scrambled eggs onto two plates. Cas stops dead in his tracks in the doorway, can’t help but take a few seconds to stare at all the miles of tan, freckled skin exposed to the soft morning light that streams through the window. Dean’s still humming softly when Cas steps further into the room, murmuring a careful “Good morning,” that startles Dean so much, a strip of bacon falls down and slaps against the tiles. Cas feels his stomach fall.

“Sorry,” he says, rushing forward to pick up the bacon. Dean just stands back and watches, something on his face suddenly closed off. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

Dean clears his throat, puts the pan down on the counter and grabs a rag to wipe away the grease from the floor while Cas puts away the bacon. “It’s okay,” Dean says, voice a little shaky. “I made breakfast. I hope… I hope that’s alright? If you wanna stay?” 

“I wasn’t sure — That’s very sweet, thank you, Dean,” Cas says, and his chest feels warm and fuzzy again. “I would love to stay for breakfast.” 

They sit down on Dean’s small counter, thighs brushing, and eat their eggs and bacon and buttered toast in silence. It feels awkward, and if Cas hadn’t already woken up scared that sleeping over fucked things up between them, he would be now.

He’s scraping the last eggs off his plate, throat closing in a way that makes him feel like he’s gonna choke if he takes one more bite, thinking about how to best make his way out of this situation without making Dean regret ever even taking him home — when Dean interrupts his thoughts.

“Hey, Cas?” he says, blinking up at him. There’s a weird, sad little crease between his eyes, and Cas already knows what’s going to come, so he trains his eyes on his plate and just nods. “I wanna say that I’m sorry. I didn’t — I didn’t mean to slip up like that. I know you… I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m so sorry.” His voice is breaking a little, and Cas’ head flies up to catch his eyes, glassy and unfocused. “I’d understand if you wanna — end things? I know you’re not, like, feeling —”

And suddenly Cas remembers the reason why he even slept over. The reason why he kept kissing Dean until they both fell asleep. He remembers thinking he misheard Dean. He remembers imagining that Dean told him he loves him — and he realizes.

And then he’s out of his chair and tackling Dean to the floor, and Dean looks all kinds of confused and he opens his mouth to ask, but Cas can’t help it anymore. He kisses Dean, soft but sure, and most importantly, sober. He kisses Dean sober, for the first time in their lives, and it’s better than anything he has ever experienced.

Dean makes a soft noise against his lips, and it’s all Cas can do to pull away and look into his eyes, green and clear and very very focused, and say: “I love you too, Dean.” And then Cas is pulled back down into another kiss. 

And maybe Cas falls asleep to nap on Dean again, later that day.

And maybe they wake up and shower together and go out for lunch and realize that this probably counts as their first date. 

And maybe Cas sleeps over most of the time after that.

And maybe they still leave parties, giggling and whispering. But they start kissing way before that, make their leave an hour after the party started, unashamed and hand in hand and cheered on by their friends.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me and [the rebloggable version of this story](https://suckerfordeansfreckles.tumblr.com/post/185965676969/on-the-tip-of-his-tongue-cas-isnt-entirely-sure) on [Tumblr](https://suckerfordeansfreckles.tumblr.com/) <3


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